Dearest Clint
by Youaretheflametomycandle
Summary: Natasha writes a letter to Clint in her final hours of life. How can Clint sit still in her time of need? Of course, nothing is that easy! Clint has to battle it out against some weird evil-masterminds. (Several OCs, easy to follow though, major character death - it's not who you think it'll be - )
1. Natasha'a Letter

Dearest Clint,

I would like to be able to tell you this in person, but unforeseen circumstances forbid me. I would like to be able to hold your hand as I say this, but I am forced to write it down at best. It's four in the morning and I haven't slept a wink lately. I'm in my sleeping quarters writing by candlelight for the power has gone out.

And I'm alone.

S.H.E.I.L.D. has sent me to Greenland and, unfortunately, that is all that I'm allowed to tell you. If this letter is checked and I have included valuable information, it could be the death of me. I must change subject now and tell you what I am trying to tell you.

Four years ago, we worked together on our last mission. I remember it like it was yesterday. We called ourselves, or more like Fury called us, the Avengers. That was such a long time ago. I have never been called an Avenger since. Anyway, there was Loki. His treacherous doings caused such havoc amongst the world and even more to you. Clint, when Loki took over your mind, I was scared. And I'm not scared easily. I covered it up though and did my job. But those were sleepless nights.

I'm struggling for words now. My eyes are heavy and my fingers tired. But I know that I will not be able to sleep until I've finished this.

Three years ago, we decided to split up. We stopped working together and went our own ways for career purposes. Why am I sugar-coating this, it's not as if you don't already know. We grew tired of everyday being the same. Eventually we grew tired of each other. We started to bicker and fight and it only ever got worse. Living together didn't seem to work anymore. After a huge argument involving lost keys, ripped work and spilt milk, we ended it. We stopped living and working together and all that could have been was not to be.

It's cold here. The tips of my fingers are numb and the writing process is slow. Dear God help me through this.

We have barely talked since. No more than a polite hello or thank you when we are around others. Fury asked us to go on a mission together, but you found out first. You talked to him and asked instead if you could go with S. Rogers. And he let you. I was ok with that on the outside. On the inside, it hurt a dull, cold, icy hurt. I thought if we had a mission together at last we could sort things out. I eventually faced that we had no more relationship between us than a rock does to the twig next to it.

My metaphors are shocking but it is early and I am tired. I am surprised I have gotten this far. The boy I paid to take this letter is here, waiting in the next room. There are only two rooms where I am staying. I told him to help himself if he wanted food but I know I shouldn't have. I barely have enough food as it is. But that has not been my worry of late.

Clint. Every day I have missed you. Even when I am sick with rage and anger towards you I still miss you longingly. There are times when I can't eat or sleep from missing you. I am beside myself with regret at not seeking after you. Whenever I am alone I imagine where I could be, what I could be, if I was still with you. And I know we never had anything more than a good friendship between us. I know that we never ventured further. Rumours surrounded us, playful jokes from the rest of the team ensured that we felt awkward. But I'm glad we stayed friends and I'm sick at the thought that we broke it off over simple matters. I am so sorry I lost your keys, Clint.

I remember everything we did together. I remember the times we flew and fought and shared victory and the times we simply ate and watched TV and stayed up late. Out of everything, though, my strongest memory is of you saving me. Our first encounter and you saved me from death. Our first encounter and I already owed you the world. I'm sorry I never paid you back for that. Clint, I want more than anything to be back by your side. Actually, I wouldn't mind being anywhere but here, but your side seems like a good place to be right now.

It's only now that I can say this, write this. Only when I am dead tired and all my proud defensive walls are down that I can muster courage to tell you this. You know, knew, that I am a very proud person and I don't say things like this light-heartedly. I have meant every word that I have written down.

I desperately hope that this letter reaches you, that the boy is not killed and that you find the letter tasteful. I desperately hope that this means something to you, that you have maybe slightly sometimes found yourself thinking about me, unintentionally.

I am so thankful to have written this down, to have at least tried to send it to you. I am now at peace with myself and with my past. This is so important to me. Simply because I have little chance of living through what is to come.

Dearest Clint,

I love you.

~Natasha Romanov


	2. Clint Replies

Dearest Nat,

I love you too.

Don't be dead.

I found my keys.

~Clint Barton


	3. Terry's Tasty Pizza Place

Clint Barton would not sit around and do nothing. Clint Barton _could not_ sit around and do nothing. He took the letter to a friend of his. Mark Terry, a professional in tracking people down with the smallest of clues. He lived in South London, in a basement underneath a pizza restaurant his sister owned. Clint parked across the road from Terry's Tasty Pizza Place. He picked up the folder that contained the letter. He was wearing jeans and a shirt. He needed to appear casual and un-business like as possible to get a chance to talk to Mark. You see, the government could do well with a person like Mark.

Clint walked in and was instantly swamped with the smell of deep fried meat and cigarette smoke. He walked past a group of teens huddled in the corner smoking. He walked past an elder lady swearing lightly at the Sudoku. He walked past a couple sharing a pizza. Something inside of him panged with a dull throbbing pain as he cast a sideways glance at the couple. Jealousy? Longing? He wasn't sure. He assured himself it was just nerves. Because he was very nervous. His favourite person's life was on the line here, if he didn't move quick enough or if he stuffed up or if something went wrong or if he was too late… If he was too late…

Clint swallowed hard.

He walked up to the counter and Mary Terry, with her black hair tied up in a bun and her deep eyes someplace else, prepared to take his order.

"Can I help you?" she said politely, still gazing at something in the distance.

"Hi Mary," Clint said, face dead straight, in an attempt at expressionless. This seemed to snap Mary back to attention. She frowned as she studied Clint's face for half a second. Then;

"CLINT! Oh, sorry," She picked up the notepad she had just dropped and hurried from behind the counter to greet Clint. She wrapped him in a big hug.

"Yes, hello Mary. Is er, Mark? Is he here?" Clint tried not to be short with her but nerves made him blunt and rude. Mary, an ancient companion of his from before his glory days as an assassin, understood. She wasn't quick to judge and was really quite easy around people.

"Oh, look Clint. If you're here on business-" she had both hands on Clint's shoulders, being a few years older than him she was comfortable in an older sister relationship with him.

"No, it's not… business. It's er, you know. Something else," He gently removed her arms and followed her to the kitchen doors. She pulled on the handle for a second before Clint pushed on the door.

"Oh, aha. Oh, Clint. I've been so ditsy lately," she proceeded to tell him about her sleepless nights and unfocused attitude lately. While she entered the code for the basement door, she told him how she needed someone to run the diner for a week so, so she could get away. While she scanned her left eye and thumbprint, she mentioned how she'd love to go to Australia a meet her uncle again, who isn't doing too well in the mining industry. As she turned a big hefty gear left twice, right once and then left again, she said she was waiting for a miracle. She didn't say that she hoped he could help. She didn't say that she wanted Clint to stay here, with her, for just a while. She didn't say that but it didn't make a difference because Clint was only just listening.

"Yea, I er, hope you're doing alright, ok? I'd like to… help and stuff. But, got stuff to do. Thanks Mary, really, thank you," He nodded at her and stroked her chin before climbing down the ladder that led to an extraordinary office type laboratory. It was dark in there and he had to get a torch out of his pocket to see ahead of him. (Being a trained spy/assassin, he carried all sorts of interesting and useful stuff in his pockets.)


	4. The Lab, Meet Mark

In the lab, there were dozens of different computers lining the walls and a maze of desk, each littered with tons of paper, sticky folders and monstrous amounts of office supplies, empty wine bottles, pain relievers and photographs. Millions and millions of photos. Clint ran his finger over an A3 sheet of paper, covered with photos. There was a profile picture of each member of the Avengers, Charles Xavier and Nick Fury, young and old, with notes scribbled underneath them. Clint didn't have time to worry over that. He moved towards the little glow of a desk lamp in the corner. He had to dodge metal boxes and cardboard packages and old lunches. He ended up jumping over a few tables to get to the light source. He flicked off his torch and returned it to his pockets. He pulled up a chair next to a bony, matted, warm lump sprawled over two desks and a chair. It had its head in a sandwich and one hand gripping a bunch of papers. The other hand was lying limp on a pile of photos.

Clint shook the thing's shoulder lightly. He jumped back as it sprung up with a jolt, swearing lightly. It shook its head and shoulder length, black, matted hair fell away from dark, knowing eyes. Mark Terry wiped his long bony hand over his cheek, removing as much jam and pickles as he could. Clint was a bit shocked at how much Mark had changed. The friends hadn't seen each other in a long time, a decade and a bit. Clint had gotten stronger, fitter and more skilled. Mark, too, had gotten a lot more skilled but his physical appearance was almost horrifying. His cheek bones stuck out of his face, his skin stretched tight over his features. His eyes were sunken in with bags showing years of underground living and plenty of sleepless weeks. His body, dressed in old jackets and track pants, wrapped in old, rotting blankets, was thin and fragile, as if a strong wind would make it crumble. His fingers were shaking as he straightened out the papers in front of him.

"Mark, you gotta get out more," Clint joked wearily. At his voice, Mark moved his chair back a bit and looked Clint up and down. How Mark could see him properly, he didn't know. Probably used to the darkness by now.

"Clint! Brother, what… I mean, cool. Yea. Cool," Mark's voice did not reflect his body at all. His voice, deep and sturdy yet flowing and comfortable. Everything sort of went to ease when he talked. But his perfect voice trailed off as he moved papers and photos around. Cling grabbed his arm and brought him back to focus. Both the Terry children were having trouble these days, he thought to himself. He found himself wondering how much Mark and Mary saw each other. Mary had taken the mother role of her little brother, but how well was she copying.

Not now. Be a decent human being afterwards.

"What is it, Clint? I mean, brother, there is gonna be a pretty good reason for you to be here and it ain't got nothing to do with business if Mary let you in? What is it? I'm done with drugs, if that's what you're looking for, but I got some wine in the fridge just there-"

"Mark. I need you to track someone for me," Clint paused as Mark gathered this information. Having been by himself for such a long time, he hadn't had the opportunity to speak to anyone. He had also forgotten the basic, talk/listen routine. "Why else would I be here?"

"Of course, I er, will help you then. I've been working on…" He checked himself. He was cautious telling people what he was working on. It wasn't exactly illegal but there were definitely people out there that wouldn't like what he was doing. But hey, this is Clint Barton. His best mate since first grade. If he couldn't trust Clint, who could he trust? "Russia. Russia has been doing some dodgy stuff lately. Sending out spies and military men to towns in Northern Greenland. Only half as many that go out, return. Something is killing them there. From all my data put together, I've figured that there is something there that the people of Greenland don't want Russia to get. The governments are keeping it hush hush. But the thing I can't get is what's killing them. I've researched disease and nuclear waste history in Greenland, I've looked at wild life and I've checked out Greenland's security system. There is nothing there that could kill that many spies and soldiers. Also, they aren't staying there because there is no trace of population going up and no trace of loss of lives. You see, if people that aren't supposed to be there died, no one's gonna tell anyone about it, are they?"

Clint didn't interrupt him because all this information was very relevant, even though Mark didn't know it. Natasha had been staying in Greenland. Clint was sweating enormously and almost hyperventilating. Natasha had been sent to Greenland, she was sent there! She said she was dying, or was going to be killed. Clint slammed his hand on the des to stop himself falling over. Mark jumped.

"This person, they… they sent me a letter. She did. She's in Greenland. I need to know where, ok? Here," He took the letter out of the folder. He had kept it in tack and unfolded. He handed it to Mark who noticed how much care he was taking and did so to. He laid it out in front of him, on top of all the other papers. He looked at the letter. Clint couldn't tell what he was looking for but it must've been important. He got out a slim, metal box. It had several words smudged on it with a Sharpie. LAND INDENTIFICATION UNIT it read. Mark opened it and pulled out something that looked like tweezers but with tiny teeth at the end. He bent in close and then leaned back out. He was taking his sweet time. He put some chunky glasses and leaned in again. Very carefully he picked at something in the paper. It took several tries until he ripped not quite all the way through the paper. He took the little section of paper, barely visible, and put it in a dish. Clint was worried that it had blown away, it was that small. Mark held the dish in a cautious gloved hand and moved it slowly and steadily towards a weird looking device. It had a slit big enough to fit the dish and a screen beneath it. It was slim and shiny, looked as if it hadn't been used before. He put the dish in the opening and pressed his hand against the screen. It buzzed to life and made some whirring and clicking noises.

"Ok, almost got it," Mark muttered under his breath as he focused on the machine. It gave a last, lazy click before spitting the ray out. He ditched the tray and picked up the machine. He held it up to his eyes as he read the results. "Yep, Greenland. It came straight from Greenland. Northern Greenland, a little town called… Well… In English it's Glowing City. 79 population. One of them is your girlfriend,"

"What? She's not… no we're just…" Clint trailed off, checked himself, and then piped back up. "So, you've pinpointed it? Exactly?" He was rubbing his hands together heatedly. He constantly ran his hand through his hair.

"Exactly," Mark looked at his companion in a now-what? way. Clint stared off into the distance, focusing, thinking. He needed to get there as quick as possible. He would definitely need to take someone with him, but who-

"Mark?" Mark inclined his head, "Will you come with me?" He asked. For a second, it looked as if Mark hadn't heard him. But then he jumped up on his skinny legs and danced around the room for a bit. He grabbed bits and pieces and chucked them all in a bag he was suddenly carrying. He ran to the wall and flicked the lights on. Suddenly the whole lab was illuminated with bright white light. It was about three times the size Clint thought it was. Mark was jumpy around as if the floor was on fire. He was ecstatic! In no less than two minutes he had his bag packed and had changed into more suitable clothing for going out.

"Yes. I'd be happy to! Also, brother, you're gonna like this! I've got a er, colleague that owes me a favour. He'll be able to take us!" Mark's beaming face made Clint smile too. He jumped up and followed him up the ladder.

Mary's face when she saw her brother was a combination of confusion, wonder and knowing. She smiled softly as she saw Clint follow.

"Well, this is unusual," she said as she tripped over a wire and dropped the pizza she was carrying. Mark dived for it and returned it to her. He kissed her on the forehead.

"This is it, Mother Mary!" He jumped and span around, Mary blushed. She was happy for him but this meant she was officially alone. Clint felt pity for her but there was nothing he could do. He patted her on the back before rushing out after Mark. The couple he had seen before were still there, cuddling in the corner and sharing a drink. The pang returned harder than last time. He put a hand to his stomach. By the time he left the restaurant Mark was already in the passenger seat, arranging the letter and his GPS on the dash. Clint jumped in eagerly after him.

He looked at Mark for instructions.

"Go to…"


	5. This Is Go

After a couple hours driving, they reached their destination. It was on the outskirts of London. It was a cold, empty field. A single white brick building stood in the middle. Clint sped towards and came skidding to halt. There was always time to be dramatic, he thought. The two men, in jeans and t-shirts, carrying bags and the precious letter, jogged up to the door. Mark knocked.

"Hold up!" Hollered an American accent. The door swung open to reveal a girl, early twenties, blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing a jumper and shorts and chunky boots. She was chewing gum, no- leaves. She had a strong minty smell wafting from her. She has tall and fit and took up most the door frame in a this-is-my-place-I'm-king-here kind of way. She gave the impression of power and lots of confidence. Clint liked her. "Ah, Mr Terry. How can I help you?" She didn't shrink away from Mark but obviously didn't like him much. She looked down her nose at him with shallow blue eyes.

"Bell. How you doing?" Mark nodded politely at her and both Bell and Clint coughed lightly, hinting he should move on quickly. They shared a glace of impatience. Bell liked Clint.

"Let me rephrase that. What do you want? I'm not interested in your stupid drugs anymore, ok?" She glared at him with immense power. If looks could kill…

"No, it's actually about that favour. I think you know what I'm talking about. We need a lift," He raised his eyebrows expectantly. She spun around violently with a huge sigh and walked off through the house. The men followed her. Clint didn't take any notice of her house; instead he was eagerly looking out the back door. Mark hadn't told him how they were getting to Greenland. Bell had gone round the corner of the house, shouting orders to hurry up. The men jogged to catch her and saw her jumping surely into a small plane. Clint knew little about planes.

"Bell's the best flyer in the whole country!" Mark said enthusiastically.

"Pilot," Bell barked. "Where are we going?" She hand her hand on her hip and her head cocked, impatient expression plastered to her face.

"Greenland," Mark said. Bell rolled her eyes at him and snatched the GPS he was offering.

The three got into the plane and had barely shut the door before Bell took off. She was off the ground in seconds and Mark had relaxed in the back seat. He was clicking around on his laptop. Clint felt less nervous and more confident now that he was actually doing something proper to get to Natasha. He ran her name through his head several times, each time the deep dark pang stung him. He tried to relax like Mark had but he couldn't. He couldn't get to Greenland quick enough. He was urging the plan to go faster. Bell cast a few sideways glances at him and saw his fixed, unnatural position. She flicked a few switches and a little panel flung up from under the dash of the plan. It was a _ting _noise and had three small buttons on it. A blue one, a green one and a bright, flashing red one.

"I love big red buttons," she said cheekily to Clint. Mark was craning his neck to see what she was doing. She slammed her palm on to the red button. The plane made a big, reckless jolt and then continued. A mechanical whirring noise sounded from under the plane and a few more jolts, smaller than before, rocked the plane. Mark and Clint leaned over to look from the windows. Two cylinders were coming out from under the plane. They were torpedo shaped and black, looking very slick next to the silver of the plane. Another two seconds and then an eruption burst the boys' ears. Clint looked pointedly towards Bell who had ear plugs in and a smug smile. The eruption was huge bursts of flame coming from the jets. The plane was moving tenfold the speed it was before.

"20 minutes max, k hun?" Bell winked at Clint. His pang subdued. They might be there in time.

Surprisingly, after the initial noise, the jets were dead silent.

"I see you haven't given up on your old hobbies?" Mark remarked from behind his screen.

"Just because you up and left, doesn't mean I'm going to hold everything until you come back," she snapped back at him.

"Who said I was coming back?"

"Oh, don't even! I know you were just waiting for a chance to come back!"

"And I know you were waiting for me," Mark had a cheeky smile in his voice. He was winning.

"Jordan came back," she said quietly. Clint saw that this meant a lot by Mark's sudden disapproving look.

"Did he er, live with you?" He proceeded with caution.

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"

"Jordan was not a good influence, Izabella. That's what got you started on-"

"You too! He got you hooked on 'em too!" She shouted. The plane dropped a little. Clint looked out the window and saw just how fast they were going. The land was moving past them at an impossible speed.

"That's why I left," Mark said, just over a whisper.

"You- what?" Bell's face softened and she focused harder on her flying.

Clint felt extremely awkward after that and for the rest of the flight. Luckily enough, ten minutes and they were flying over Greenland. The jets were packed back in and Mark had all his gear ready to go.

"Where do we need to land?" Bell asked, very business-like. Mark flinched at the hardness of her voice. He chucked her GPS to her.

"About 2 KS from the red dot. We'll walk, cautiously, the rest of the way. We can't be seen. I assume?" He looked towards Clint, who took over.

"Well, you said there is something, possibly someone, killing them. We don't want that or it or whatever to notice us. Also, we need to get to that town and find someone, possibly someone that doesn't want to be found," He silently added that the person might also be dead. The pang rung through his whole body and he shook it out. "Land quietly and then we'll er, go. I guess," Clint stared out the windshield. Another two minutes and they were landed, perfectly quiet and with the town very far off. The snow helped the silver plane be unseen. The three put on slim fitting, weather proof jackets and trousers. Bell gave the boys some super-boots, thick leather, spiked bottoms and tracking device from the GPS. Just in case. Mark took his bag and Clint took the letter and tucked it neatly in his jacket. This was it. This was go.


	6. Nearly There

The three jogged toward the edge of the town and came to a small, shack like house. It looked as if the harsh weather here could destroy, but obviously it hadn't. Clint made the risky decision to knock on the door for information. To anyone else they were just tourists. They walked up and knocked. Something big clanged and two people hushed each other. A man, small and scared looking, opened the door an inch. He looked over the faces of the people at his door.

"English?" He said.

"Yes, we're er-"

"Business?" His voice trembled; he was definitely packing himself with fear.

"Tourists. Actually…" Clint took another risky decision. He was feeling confident at how close he was to finding her. He was suppressing the fear of… failure. "We're looking for someone. She's in trouble,"

The man at the door looked over the people again. "Well, you're definitely not Russian. I guess… Come in, quietly!" He waddled away to a table. He sat at the end and there were four cushioned seats left. The shack was small and cosy, cluttered with family photos and books and knitting patterns. And elderly lady came out and sat next to the man, quietly and nervously.

"H-h-hello, I'm… N-n-n-n-Nina," She was having trouble getting the words out. She put a large plate of warm garlic bread on the table. The three only then just noticed how hungry they were. They helped themselves to some bread.

"This is my mother, and I'm… I'm Milne. So you're… looking for… someone? A girl? Yes?" He paused between each sentence and uttered each word individually.

"Yes. She sent a distress letter calling for help. We've pinpointed her location. The trouble now is getting in. The trouble later is getting out. We were wondering if you could… brief us on what's going on inside?" Mark's charming voice gained Milne and Nina's trust. Nina nodded furiously to show this. Clint was happy that Mark had spoken first, except he wouldn't call it a 'distress letter.'

"Well, you'll know about the Vibranium mine then?" Milne's words flowed easier now that he was talking about something he knew about. "It was just discovered, not long ago. The Glowing City had quite a lack of attention before it," Clint thought that Vibranium sounded familiar. He tried not to think on it though, his goal was to find Nat. "Well, some miners were sent there to get some. Put word leaked. Well, you can figure what happened next. Everyone's trying to keep it quiet though, so there is less competition. But the Russian government found out and sent people here. And not miners either! Good Lord, no. These men and women were not miners, but killers. They were brutal. Don't get me wrong, they would only kill if they needed to. But when they did, they did it quick and professionally. Most of the time.

"Anyway, they came in and started searing for the mine. And only a few people know where it is. They went off to the forest just up there," he pointed vaguely towards the back of his house. "And they didn't come back. Mother says they found it and are staying around there," Nina nodded violently again. "But I reckon something's eating 'em," his eyes grew, "you know, killing 'em cos it wants it all to itself. That's what I think," Mark went to speak up but; "And the town is crawling with soldiers. All he ones that are too scared to go into the forest and too scared to go home empty handed. They're stuck here," Milne finished with a definite nod and stuffed his mouth with garlic bread.

Bell wiped her mouth and spoke up. "So, what would happen if we just walked in there?"

"Well, you'd get taken to the hall and questioned. They don't want no tourists going round in case they are actually looking for the Vibranium. You know, security is tight," Milne answered through garlicky teeth.

"Damn,"

"Wait! We can do that! We can go to the hall, go straight to the centre and Nat will see us and speak up! We'll be fine!" Clint felt so relieved that he had thought of that that he physically felt his shoulders relax. The pang loosened its grip and he breathed easier.

"What? I thought she was the one in trouble? I thought she lived here and the Russian's were threatening her?" Mark's sunken features had starting to look healthier with all this time outside. His frown of confusion creased a strong brow into thinking eyes.

"No, she said she was sent here! But-" the pang returned, tighter than ever, "it wasn't Russia that sent her. It was… someone else. Damn it," he rubbed his forehead. "She's everyone's enemy. Well done, Nat."

"Cool, ok. That's alright," Bell was thinking out loud. "We want to get her out of here, right? So we need to sneak in and find her. You said you know exactly where she was, so we go there. Say she's there, we find her, alive-" Clint's stomach flipped twice, "And we get her to follow us out. I assume she's fairly able?"

Clint couldn't help but laugh, "Fairly, sure,"

"Right. This shouldn't be too hard if we go under cover of night? I mean, it honestly doesn't sound that hard? It's five o'clock now, we've got a couple hours to wait, and then we go? Sound good?" Bell slapped the table in confidence.

Mark slowly nodded, running through the plan. Clint agreed to. Nearly there, Nat, nearly there.


	7. Found, dead or alive

At nine they left the house. They thanked Milne and Nina for their hospitality and took their bags, cautiously proceeding. The snow was past their ankles, half way up their shins. Their boots kept most of it out. Mark had his bag held to him tightly; Clint had his hand on the letter, the other in his pocket. And Bell had the GPS. They got to the entrance of the small town easily enough and crouched behind a big, wide pillar that marked the entrance of the Glowing City. There were words inscribed on it in a different language. Bell fiddled with the GPS, figuring out which house to break into. Clint noticed Mark's protective look towards Bell. He wondered exactly what history they had.

"It's number 42, on a street that isn't in English. I can find the street but keep your eyes open for 42, ok? We shouldn't go down the main road so you two follow me close behind, ok?" She mumbled some more instructions to herself before checking out the security. "I don't know how many people are patrolling the streets?" She grimaced at the inconvenience. Mark whipped his bag down and got out a small disc like thing. It was hard to see in the dark but it had a lump on the top and sticks coming out of the bottom. Then he got another, flatter disc out and a screen flickered to life on it. The first disc buzzed quietly to life and the lump on top whizzed around. It was a camera. Using his finger on the screen, Mark controlled the disc robot which moved rather quickly, the camera was pretty high deff to. He sent the robot sneaking past the entrance and then gave the screen to Bell who led it down a side street. Bell tip-toed after it, followed by the boys. They kept about 10 metres behind it and frequently stopped and started.

They came across several pairs of soldiers roaming the streets. They could easily hide from them because they weren't really looking for people sneaking around. They most likely had the situation under control, overconfidence shining through them. But at once stage they got into a bit of a situation. The little screen showed a group of seven walking in a line. These were the strict ones, the class favourites, teachers' pets. Clint recognized them immediately. He remembered his own training times, spending days picking on the uppity, tight-bummed ones. These would be a pain because they'd be looking. And sure enough, they were. Mark and Bell crouched on one side of the road behind a cement fence outside a house. Clint, from up a tree, covered in snow, on the other side of the street, could see that their heads were visible. Too late to tell them now.

The seven were getting closer and closer. Their heads were going to be seen. Clint screwed up his face, getting ready for a jump. He'd have to act quickly.

It happened in under a minute.

One of the seven, the one closest to Mark, pointed at Mark and Bell. He gave an order quickly. Three others began to head around the cement wall. Mark and Bell hadn't even realised yet. The other four were standing back, in case they made a run for it. They didn't use guns at first, didn't want to make a scene. One of the soilders was walking backwards under the tree. Three more steps, two, one… Clint jumped down on him with a knife. He slit his throat quick and deadly silent. No one noticed. He dearly missed his bow and arrow and cursed himself for not bringing it. He had to make do with a knife. He sprung onto the next one, a woman. Oh gosh, killing women was always harder.

"Sorry," he muttered and cut her throat, once, twice and dropped her. Someone had noticed. They spun around with their gun and pointed. Clint noticed the people rounding on Mark and Bell. The cement fence was long and they had planned to go around it, not over it. Amateurs? He hoped so.

"Hey, you! Hands behind your-" throat slitted. But he had time to yell out. The yell died to an agonized moan before he fell to the ground, completely limp and lifeless. That was three down, one more close to him. Three more dangerously close to Mark and Bell.

****BANG****

****BANGBANG****

Clint jumped for his life and automatically launched towards the person shooting. Years of being a master assassin had taught him a few techniques. He went in for a spear tackle that the shooter wasn't expecting. His gun was in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up breaking his hand. Clint slammed the man down onto the ground and straddled his chest with lightning speed. He had already stabbed him in his stomach. This man, he had seen before. Clint took one moment too long looking at the man's face. He should have moved on but he was mesmerized. He went to slit his throat just as the words: "Clint Barton, Brutal Barton…" slipped out. He hadn't been called by that nickname in years. Not since his training… He had trained with this man, he had bullied this man. He slit his throat with difficulty and stumbled off of him. He shook his head, focussed again. He noticed that the pang had gone. That was definitely bad, that killing people was his calm spot. Three left. The three going to Mark and Bell. They had finally noticed Clint's silent work. The gun shots might have been a giveaway. Two spun around and came at Clint, guns a blazing. Clint rolled and took one down but the other was further away. He had to run back from him, away from Mark and Bell and away from the shooter. He followed. Definitely amateur. Clint slowed his run and ducked suddenly so that his pursuer kept going but stumbled a little. Clint took him down.

"Stop. Hands behind your head, now." Clint stood up slowly, knife in hand, and put his hands behind his head. He turned around and saw a woman holding two guns, one pointed at Mark and one at Bell. Clint took a step closer and another before she told him to stop. The moonlight was dim but reflected off the snow, it showed a rather blue face with a dark spot around one eye. This wasn't a normal soldier. He remembered her. Domino. Expert with guns. Ex-X-man. He was in trouble now.

"Hello, Hawkeye," she spat the words. She was obviously proud of herself. Clint was racking his brains for something to do. He couldn't be responsible for his best mates death. And Bell's.

"Domino, how can I help you?" He was very tongue and cheek, not by mistake. He planned to tease her until she faced him instead of the other two. He had seen enough cartoons and movies to know how to do it. She stepped towards him, guns still pointed at Bell and Mark. Now she was in front of the two, getting closer to Clint. One arm swung around and pointed at him. One gun now pointed to Mark and the other, Clint.

"You can help me by-" Her face tightened and then relaxed and then she fell, dead. Bell had stabbed her back.

Clint took a gulp of breath. "Well… Well done, Bell!" He staggered forward to her, regaining his footing as the rush of adrenaline died down. He firmly patted the two on the shoulder and wiped his brow before moving on. The pang inside him was echoing through his head now, begging him to find her already. Bell and Mark kept close to them now, having discarded the robot because of the damage it had received. They turned another corner and saw, their eyes having adjusted to the darkness efficiently, a homely street covered in snow. The little undergrowth that was there was sprinkled with snow, very pleasant looking. The houses on this street weren't as damaged and prison looking as the previous streets. A few lights were still on, shadows of happy families moving through them. Bell and Mark stopped and looked at the oddly situated street. Bell nodded when asked if this was it. Clint's first assumption was that this was where the Russians were staying. The one street that wasn't trashed was usually kept for the ones in charge. A sinking feeling came through Clint. Maybe she was here with Russia. Maybe she was working with them. As much as that would be better for Nat and easier for him, it meant that the earlier killings were unnecessary. He couldn't bare that. Being honest with himself, there was nothing he could think of worse than unnecessary killings, even in the current situation. He had committed enough of them in his time.

He professionally scanned the street for signs of… well, anything. And then he saw, in front of one small, dark house, a small, dark pool in the snow. Blood. He silently moved forward to it, bending and ducking to avoid being seen. He dipped a finger in it and flinched, it was thick and sticky. Healthy blood. Cold, but not cold enough to be old. He looked to the house that stood next to him. It was smaller than the rest of the houses and colder looking. Bell and Mark had caught up with him and were crouching against the wall of the small house. They were holding hands. Clint couldn't supress a smile as he crawled over to join them. His fear of Natasha being with the Russians fell away as he remembered the contents of her letter paired with the information Milne had given him. The situation of her being sided with the Russians didn't fit. Also, as he turned his head, he saw the number 42 nailed to the wall. Above the number was a broken window. He peered through and saw one small room, raided. There was a pantry, its door swinging open and the shelves inside it empty and dusty. There were two small chairs in the corner, one draped in women's clothing.

Clint pushed open the door and it creaked. He screwed up his face until the noise ended. He crept in, still crouched over. Mark and Bell went to follow.

"No, wait here. It might… get messy," He ordered.

"Messier than before?" Bell snapped back, staying true to her usual flare.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. He didn't look back but he knew that Bell moved back, arching her back into Mark's chest.

Clint moved forward cautiously. The small room was darker on the inside, smaller and colder to. He could feel his bare hands going numb. He wasn't sure if it was from the cold or those never ending nerves chewing down on him. When he was certain that the small room was empty he straightened out and walked over to the pantry. He ran his finger over the dusty shelves. It wasn't thick, only a day or two since it had been disrupted. But the more interesting thing about this pantry was the massive crack running down the middle of it, through all the shelves and the backing of it. It took two seconds for Clint to settle on the explanation that someone was pushed into it with a lot of force. He found the smashed remnants of a chair in the corner. As he sifted through it he saw a blood stained knife. He flicked it over and saw an 'N' carved into it. Was it Nat's?

He backed off and stood in the middle of the room and looked around. There were no shelves or desks or tables, only the broken pantry, two useable chairs and a broken one. Fairly boring and simple. He then turned his attention to the small, wooden door at the far side of the room. It led to another room, presumably, directly behind this one. He nodded at Mark and Bell who were, predictably, curled up with one another in an awkward looking position. They were making as much contact as possible while still being able to run at any given time. Seeing them together made the pang ring through him again. He ignored it and pushed on.

The door had several dents in it, probably just old wounds. Maybe from a recent fight? He braced himself for what he might find and pushed the door open, jumping into an attacking position. There was no one in there. The room was smaller than the last one and a lot more cramped. There was a make shift bed made of bundles of hay covered in a moth-eaten blanket. It was half under a wooden desk that was littered with bits of paper and candle wax. Next to Clint's foot was a half burnt candle that had rolled away from the desk leaving a trail of wax. He stepped up to the desk and sat on the rickety chair that matched it. The papers were all about Vibranium and featured pictures of Captain America's shield. There were plenty of papers with, what he could tell were, fakes and decoys in case the owner was found. All the papers were pushed to one side and Clint looked down the edge of the desk that was pressed up against the wall. There were even more pages stuffed down there. Whoever was here had been eager to hide their work and leave. As he sifted through the papers, Clint found an old battered photo. It was of him in his Hawkeye uniform.

This was Natasha's desk and she had been the one eager to leave. Clint's mind raced for an explanation. If only he could contact her! He had tried earlier but she didn't have her phone on her. He found it under the scattered papers. _23 missed calls: Clint Barton; 34 new messages: Nick Fury, Clint Barton, Russia International Library, Peter Parker, Nick Fury, Nick Fury, Nick Fury…_

He pocketed the phone and sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

He pictured the scene. Natasha sitting at the desk scribbling down the last bits of the letter. She got up and handed it to the boy with a bit of money and he ran off. She took off a jumper and draped it over the chair. Now she was in just her uniform. A text from Nick Fury confirming the incoming threats (he had gone through the messages to and from Nick Fury, just to find out what had happened.) She stood in the middle of the room and waited. She couldn't have run because they'd be able to track her down and she could very possibly have been in a worse situation then. She could only prepare. She got out her knife and gun as the first few came bursting through the door. The first one got shot. As Clint re-enacted the battle in the first small room he now saw the splattered blood on the wall from the gun shot through the head. The second one got shot the same way. Two dead bodies for the third to jump over. As he jumped, he launched onto Nat, who protected herself by swinging the chair up onto him. Disorientated by the chair, she could stab him easily. The crushed chair then hastily kicked aside, she took on the next one. He came running at her for a physical attack. She would have swung him around and ditched him through the window with ease. Having finished, or thought she was finished, she ran outside to check. One last man was there waiting for her, a couple fired bullets that missed, that Clint now saw lying limp against the back wall, and then she jumped on him, stabbing him and twisting to prove her point. He leaked a pool of blood. Natasha had always been well capable of hiding bodies; he imagined that they were stacked behind the house.

He very fondly imagined Natasha then wiping her hands and returning to her bedroom. But why wasn't she there now? He flicked through the messages from Nick Fury:

_We got someone in, they're recording the 'V's behaviour. The assassins placed there are doing well and still haven't been discovered. You're not needed yet. – _3 days ago

_Both assassins have been found and, so far that we know, killed. You have to go in. _- 2 days ago

_I don't know if you'll get this, I've seen you've moved out. I assume you noticed the dangerous 'V' levels. Also, I assume you noticed the weird looks the Russians have been giving you. _– Yesterday

_Natasha, 5 soldiers heading your way. To kill you. Be prepared. Finish them off. _– Yesterday pm

_Well done. Now you need to-_

***NEW MESSAGE***

Clint opened the new message.

_Where are you positioned? I repeat, give your position. _– Just now

Fury had just texted Nat. But she didn't have her phone. Clint rubbed his face in frustration. There was no sign that she had died, and if she had – the pang smacked him across the face – Fury and SHEILD didn't know. He decided to check back with Mark and Bell.

As he walked to open the door, he sensed something wrong. His gut clenched and brain clicked as he prepared for the worst.

Bell and Mark were bound together with ropes, blindfolded and gagged. Expertly. Clint's natural reaction was to make sure there was no threat. He put his back to the couple and checked, double checked, triple checked that there was no one around. Then he spun round and started cutting the ropes. He took off the blindfolds and put a finger to his lips in a be-quiet sign. Their eyes were filled with panic and fear. They scrambled up and took out their gags. Ignoring Clint's instructions:

"Clint! Out of no-where-"

"Snapped us up and tied-"

"Shoved us down-"

"Then she left-"

"Didn't see her-"

Clint clapped his hands over their mouths. He ran everything he had understood over in his mind and settled on one thought.

"She?" He cocked his head and braced himself for the worst. The both nodded furiously, pinned to the wall by his hands.

Then their eyes filled again with panic and Bell gently pushed Clint around to face their attacker.

Clint's eyes widend, his jaw dropped. Their attacker took a step towards Clint and wrapped her arms around him. He did so back to her as she quietly sobbed into his neck. The pang fled from his body through a single tear rolling down his cheek.


	8. The Tall Dark Building

Clint took a step back, holding her at arms' length. He looked her over, running a gentle finger over the cuts on her face.

"I can't believe you found me," Natasha breathed out. She was worn and tired, her legs were shaking. She let out a wary laugh. Clint grabbed her again and held her close. They stayed like that for a minute, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of each other. Everything had been forgiven, all was forgotten.

Bell was wrapped in Mark's arms, both breathing deeply in relief. But the magical moment couldn't last long. Two gunshots were fired off to their left. Everyone snapped to attention.

"We have to get out," Clint whispered.

"Oh, and that's going to be easy with four people," Nat barked, eyeing off Mark and Bell, who had jumped up half a second too slow. Clint grimaced as he saw the friction growing every second between the three of them. He went to break it apart when a body was flung towards the house from around the corner. In a split second, Bell was on it, checking it over, decided it was not on our side and slit its throat. Nat stood back, impressed.

Mark and Clint were already heading down the road, away from the guns and body. Nat and Bell followed. As they hurried along the roads, heading towards the entrance of the city, ducking and weaving to avoid being seen, Natasha filled them in.

"There's a Vibranium mine, about two miles from here. Russian soldiers and governors and all sorts have come to get it. And you can imagine what they'd do if they got their hands on enough of it. Weapons large enough to take out whole countries. Of course, S.H.E.I.L.D. and the British Government have known about the mine for some time; they decided to leave it untouched. As well as it being used for extremely dangerous weapons and things, it provides a welcome habitat for many creatures. Some creatures that live in there are so evolved… They're incredible; the Vibranium provides a kind of energy source that they feed from, but anyway.

"When S.H.E.I.L.D. heard that some secret force was going to mine it, they sent out lawyers and officials to stop them. No amount of money or bargaining would stop them though. The next step was force. The British sent a small army here to hold them off, but they gave us a 'dose of our own medicine,' and sued their way into the mines. There was only one option left. Right before they commenced work in the mines, Fury sent a bunch of assassins (newly trained, Clint, and they're good too) to kill off the workers. They did a good job, but never the less; Fury had me stay here to watch over them. But they were found and killed, so I took over.

"It didn't go to well. S.H.E.I.L.D. had a mole working for Russia, and they said that the Russians were planning something terrible to do to me. Fury wouldn't say what, he just told me to leave. Because of all the deaths in there, they held off mining for a bit. Also, so they could focus on getting me. I had been hiding out in that small house because it was abandoned. Apparently someone died in there. Add two or three, now that I'm done there.

"Well, I was worried to say the least. I wrote to you, Clint," she nudged him and smiled. "Fury told me they were coming, about three or four hours ago. I err… got rid of them and hid on the roof. Scared for my life. Honestly, Clint, I've never been so scared. I didn't know what to do; I had no way to contact anyone -"

And that reminded him. He chucked her phone to her as they came to rest against the back of a tall, dark building. Mark and Bell collapsed next to them, they weren't used to this and the stress was getting to them. Nat went through her phone and replied to Fury.

_Ten metres from entrance to city. Can't get pinpoint. Hawkeye + 2 with me. Safe and sound. We're almost out, Nick. The Russians are still scared of me. :) _– Send

"Yes, we're almost out," Clint rubbed her knee affectionately. The four of them planned a little manoeuvre to sprint safely out of the city and all the way back to Nina and Milne's little warm house. They all got up and, as planned, Mark ran forward first around the corner of the building. He was out of sight, which was risky, but if he made a bird noise they knew it was safe. If he screamed or so, they knew it wasn't.

_Chirpy Chirp. Twee__e__e__e__et. _

The three others hurried after him together, only to find him held in a headlock with a knife at his throat. The man holding him called out again:

_Chirpy Chirp. Twee__e__e__e__et. _

Four more men pounced onto them, caught them by surprise if you will. The two strongest pinned Clint to the wall while the other two grabbed the girls in the same head lock as Mark. Clint was kicking and struggling, but they were too strong. He saw that man holding Nat whisper something into her ear before licking her neck. Clint was raging silently, bashing around hard. He got a decent hit at one man's head. In his rage, he smashed his own head into the wall.

Nat's gut clenched as she saw Clint's head flop onto his chest. But she only rolled her eyes. She knew too well that these people were not to be messed with.

Bell was crying quietly and Mark had gone limp in defeat in the men's arms. They were escorted into the tall dark building. Nat cooperated, walking with her head held high. Bell followed, trying her hardest to keep a solemn face. But when she was roughly shoved into thought the entrance of the building, when she looked up and her eyes fell upon two faces above her, she couldn't possibly keep a straight face.


	9. Mind Mansion

The room was tall, as tall as the building. From outside, one might have guessed at there being four or so floors, but that was not so. There were just two very tall rooms. This particular room had black walls and carpet and was lined with desks piled with computers and papers. It reminded Mark of his own desks, just neater. The bright white lights hung from the ceiling with long cords, giving enough light to illuminate the used space, but barely anything above it. There were two big black computer chairs at opposite ends of the room, towering over like thrones.

In one of those throne-like chairs, with a pile of chains at her feet, sat Nina. She was dressed in all black with the words '_V Project'_ written in Russian on her jumper in purple. Nat glared at her with a mingled feeling of fear and anger, while Mark and Bell felt so much more. Cheated, betrayed. Nat saw the looks on their faces and grew even more frightened still.

Milne was standing above the three, wearing the same as Nina, holding a leather riding crop. The three of them had been pushed onto their hands and knees, while Clint had been chucked aside, still unconscious. Bell was still crying quietly. Nat internally begged for her to stop.

"Ah yes, you found her?" Milne spoke, a strong Russian accent ringing through his voice. One which was not there before. "Well done. Of course, I knew that you would! And you would bring her right to me," He laughed a sharp, accusing laugh. He walked over to Clint, running the crop along his hand. He bent over and stroked his Clint's face with the end of it. "This is famous Hawkeye, I see?" Milne scrunched up his face, "I am bit disappointed," and then he returned to Nat, doing the same to her chin as he had to Clint's. "But you, oh! You are prize! Black Widow, they call you. I am so glad I can add you to collection!" Milne spun on his heels and walked back to his chair before sitting gracefully on it. It was Nina's turn to speak up.

"To be honest," no stutter, no warm motherly tone, "I did not think you would do it, Milne, baby! I thought it impossible to capture everyone you wanted," she ran a hand through her hair; she didn't look as old and helpless as she did last time. She pouted her lips, hiding a smirk. Milne nodded at the guards that had their hands on the three's shoulders. They hoisted them up and over their own shoulders and walked to the wall separating the two, tall rooms. Nat was kicking furiously, wriggling and squirming but the guard was about twice the size of her and contained her easily. Milne tapped the wall with his fingertips, winked at his mother and pressed the palm of his hand to the wall. It spun around 180.

Nat was looking up at a room, exactly the same size and colour as the last room, except so different. It was glowing purple and the change in light blinded her for a minute. In that minute, Milne had walked over to a control panel.

"You are going to love this, I just know you will," he started laughing.

The walls were lined, top to bottom, with people. Some looked to have been there for as long as weeks. Possibly months even. There was so many people, so many helpless bodies. They were tied to the wall, connected, by wires and cords, all radiating purple. Specially designed plugs, also tinged purple, were in their ears and the dummy looking contraption stuck in their mouths. A metal rack was fastened around their ribs and hips to hold them in place.

Nat almost gagged at the horrible sight. Bell continued crying. Mark gaped at the people, some he knew. He quickly pieced together the people. All that he recognized, wether personally or not, were geniuses. Specialists in one degree of another. David Sharp, one of Mark's oldest mates, specialized in animal mutations. Selena Rankin was especially talented with element control. Mark and Nat both saw Bruce Banner at the same time.

"Bruce!" Nat wailed. Bruce's eyes flickered to life slowly. He tensed as his eyes recognized Nat; his body shook momentarily and then went limp again.

"No, no, no. You cannot do that, darling," Milne had pressed a button, causing Bruce to fall back asleep. At least, Nat hoped he was just asleep. "You see, I'm downloading his brain," he smiled a distorted smile, his yellow teeth poking out at odd angles.

"You're disgusting!" Nat bellowed at him. Time to get the interrogation in process, she thought. No use wasting time. "You're a filthy excuse for a human being!" Great, best to start with an insult. The only thing he can do is prove her wrong.

"Aha, yes. I see how you think of that. But you are wrong. I am the best human being. I am going to be the best human being in world. And I suppose you are wanting to know how I am going to do it, no?" He tilted his head towards her, pouty faced. He was practically giving it to her!

"No!" She wriggled under the grip of her guard. Mark and Bell had fallen silent beside her. Thank God.

"Well, I am going to tell you. All of these people, my collection, are very smart people. They are clever. They know of things. I have devised a way to take all of their knowledge and to put inside my brain. You see?" He opened his arms, palms up, as if presenting a rather spectacular afternoon tea. Nat pulled an innocently stupid face, as if she didn't understand. Now he would spell it out for her, going into detail.

"I am going to have to err… spell it out?" He took an annoyed step towards Nat. "Ok. Stupid girl." Nat fought the urge to kick him where it hurts. "My chemical, which is largely made up of Vibranium, is getting pumped through wires into heads. You see? It goes into their brains by their ears and it does its magic. What it does is this: It sorts through their thoughts and knowledge. It find the important things. It copies the electrical charges that make up the thoughts and the knowledge and it takes it back to the giant memory bank that I have. Then the thoughts and the knowledge is sent to the computers in the room next door. Then all of my workers sort through it again. They divide the thoughts and knowledge into folders. And when it is complete, it will be downloaded into my very own brain." He finished abruptly. "This, darling, is my Mind Mansion,"

He smiled at his genius and turned his back to Nat.

"Won't your brain explode?" Bell asked. She seemed to have cleared her head a bit. That's exactly what Nat was going to ask, but she didn't think she could have made it sound that sincere.

"No. I will have plenty of room inside my mind after it has been wiped." He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. In fact, he seemed almost remorseful. Nat spotted a weakness. He didn't want to wipe his mind. Why? He was going to download extreme amounts of intelligence into his brain, why would he mind parting with a few memories to make way? Nat suddenly remembered a time where all she had was memories. She remembered cherishing them, playing the through her head. Why were they so precious to her? Because they were all she had left of something – someone – she loved. Or so she had thought.

"But what about her?" She was going out on a limb here. It was all guesswork from here on in. Her eyes flickered subconsciously to Clint, lying on the ground. Fully conscious. He was staring into Nat's eyes and in a split second, with a few eye movements, they had a plan. "If you did that, you'd forget. Wouldn't you?"

"I knew that you were not a stupid girl," He flung his arm around and slapped her cheek. Clint mustered enough self-control to not retaliate. "Of course I will forget! I will become the perfect human! I will have no emotion. Not even a memory of an emotion! And that is good! That is how I want it to be, how I need it to be!" He was yelling now. He turned from her again, his hands locked behind his head. She looked down to Clint again. He raised his eyebrows. She frowned at him – I'm getting there!

"Ok… ok… I, err… sorry," she stuttered. Very convincing. "But if you want knowledge, why do you want us? We're not exactly _smart_," She cocked her head.

"But you are physically able. Very fit and healthy. I have another machine for you two. And then there is Mark and Bell. I do not need them, you are right. In fact, I can dispose of them,"

"No!" Mark, Bell and Nat cried out at once.

"Aha. Ok then, they can stay and watch. Much worst, I am thinking," He nodded at them, his smile had returned.

"So… you're going to plug us in and rain us physically, like you're draining them mentally?" Nat still wasn't scared. She felt she should be but her stubborn nature was sticking to it.

"Yes. And you trust me, it will hurt more than mentally," He smirked and turned to walk off. The guards bended to pick them all up. Nat made a clicking noise and her and Clint jumped into action.


	10. Jinxed

While they were half way between floor and shoulder, they kicked the guards in the gut. They were released and fell to the ground prepped for running. They had to leave Mark and Bell with the guards, a risky decision but for the best. There was only so much they could do without weapons. Nat pounced onto Milne's back, bringing him to the floor. He called out quickly before Nat stuffed his mouth with his own shoe. The guards were simple and looked blankly at the ruckus caused by Clint and Nat. Clint had jumped onto the control panel. After a second look, he realized he had no idea what he was doing. He pulled out a knife from under the panel and plunged it deep into the guards arm. He released Mark. Clint pushed him up against the panel.

"Stop whatever is happening. You heard what it's doing. Just… be careful. Don't hurt anyone… if that's possible," He looked into Mark's eyes quickly before going to Nat's aid. With some light fingered work, they tied Milne's wrists and ankles with his shoelaces. He wriggled around, his boot still in his mouth. Nat stepped back and glared at the guards. They were standing stock still, watching Mark work.

"I don't think they're going to hurt anyone," She said to Clint.

"You might want to get Bell, though," He suggested patronizingly.

"Can we please have Bell back?" Nat walked up to the guard, prepared to fight him. He didn't even look at her. He was staring at Mark. His whole body was tense and his grip on Bell's arm was enough to leave a red mark. He dropped her and stumbled back. Bell hurried over to Mark's side, saying not a word. Nat went over and hugged Clint. Everyone was re-united. Everything was good. They would stop the process and get everyone out of there. As Nat wrapped her arms around Clint's neck, she got the deep-gut feeling of something not quite right.

"That was a lot easier that it should have been, you know?" She whispered into his neck.

"Don't jinx it," He mumbled back. He was so wrapped up in her scent and warmth.

But it was too late.


End file.
